


Inspected

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto feels obligated to confess.





	Inspected

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He always knows immediately when he’s waking up in Ignis’ bed, because it smells so much better than his, even when they’ve sullied it with sex. He still feels a little sticky, and he can smell the sweat and other stains, but he can also smell the lingering remnants of Ignis’ shampoo on his pillow. Prompto curls into it and happily inhales. 

He shifts beneath the sheets. He feels around himself, searching for another warm body, but when he doesn’t find anything, his eyes creek open. A fair amount of morning light streams in through the curtains; they’re deliberately pale, because Ignis never wants to sleep in. Prompto can easily figure out where his boyfriend’s gone. When he lifts his head off the pillow, he can smell bread toasting.

Free breakfasts are another huge plus to staying over at Ignis’. That’s not why Prompto does it. Realistically, if he could _live_ with Ignis full time, he would. He’d stay glued to Ignis’ side and only leave when either of them had to work or Noctis was calling. 

Prompto stretches, content to bask in that enduring afterglow, but then a black smudge registers in his peripherals. Prompto pulls his hand in and turns it over. 

His whole body goes cold. He’s not wearing his wristband. In the chaotic darkness of last night’s love making, he or Ignis must’ve stripped it off. And he didn’t notice. His barcode is fully exposed and plain to see. If his cover slipped around most people, he’d probably be okay. Even Noctis might not even put two and two together that fast. But Ignis is probably the most intelligent man in all of Insomnia, and also the person Prompto fears losing the most. 

He gulps. He rolls over, and his phone’s sitting on the nightstand, but his wristband isn’t. He has to lean over the edge of the bed and dig around in their pile of discarded clothes to find it. He hastily shoves it on, but he knows it’s already too late. There’s a good chance that Ignis already noticed it. Sheer _panic_ courses through Prompto’s body.

He hasn’t been kicked out yet. That’s a good sign. And Ignis probably wouldn’t have bothered making breakfast if he was only going to call in the Crownsguard. Maybe he’s waiting for Prompto to come out on his own, and then they’ll have an incredibly painful and awkward conversation before Ignis escorts Prompto to the Citadel, then the dungeon. Prompto’s heart is beating too loudly in his ears for him to think straight. He takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm down. He always knew this day would come. He couldn’t hide it forever. Ignis has already asked about the wristband once or twice, and Prompto had to shrug it off, because he couldn’t bring himself to lie even to vaguely mention a bad scar or something. Besides, he _wants_ to be honest. Ignis is _so_ good to him. He doesn’t want to harbour any secrets.

After a long string of garbled thoughts and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, Prompto pulls Ignis’ nightshirt off the end of the bed. He tugs it on, because he knows Ignis likes seeing him in Ignis’ bigger clothes, and maybe that’ll make this slightly easier. The shirt isn’t that much wider, but it is longer, enough to forgive Prompto not putting on pants. He knows Ignis likes his legs. Really, Ignis likes most of him, but Prompto can’t take that for granted anymore.

He forces himself to climb off the bed and stiffly march into the kitchen. Sure enough, Ignis is standing by the stove. The toast has popped up, but he’s also got an array of potato chunks and herbs in one oiled pan. It smells amazing. Prompto doesn’t deserve him. 

Ignis looks over, sees Prompto in the too-long shirt, and smiles softly. He greets, “Good morning.”

It’s so suave and cool. Just the way that Ignis always is. But if Ignis was incredibly angry, he’d probably be able to hide it well. Prompto fidgets. He mumbles, “Morning.”

“Breakfast will be ready in a moment.”

“Thanks, Iggy. You’re... you’re really amazing.”

Ignis gives Prompto another gentle smile before returning to the stove. It feels like Prompto really could sneak out if he wanted—gather his things and escape, then exile himself so Noctis wouldn’t have to do it. Prompto sort of wishes he were just that fraction more cowardly.

He’s not. He takes the last few steps towards Ignis. Normally, this is where he’d reach out and wrap his arms around Ignis’ middle, slumping happily against Ignis’ handsome body until the potatoes were cooked. This isn’t normal.

He fumbles with words before finally settling on, “I need to explain.”

Ignis hums, “Hm?”

“The... the barcode. You... saw it, right...?” If he didn’t, this will be infinitely more awkward. Ignis dons a small frown. 

It’s no surprised that he answers, “I did.” Then he continues, “But there’s no need to explain. I know what it is.”

Prompto bites his bottom lip. He’d expected Ignis to know some things, maybe not all—and he himself doesn’t know it all. All he can manage is a weak, “I’m sorry.”

Ignis lifts a brow. “There’s no reason to be sorry.”

“I am. I... I shouldn’t have hidden that from you... I shouldn’t have—”

“Prompto, I’ve known for far longer than we’ve been dating.”

Prompto’s eyes go wide. He splutters, “_What?_”

“When it first became apparent that Noctis intended to forge a lasting friendship with you, I did my research. The Citadel did its own, of course, but I was a bit more thorough. I recognized the forgery on your adoption papers. But I decided what I found was acceptable and told no one.”

Prompto doesn’t understand. He blinks up at Ignis, dazed and _incredibly_ grateful, because he could’ve not only lost his boyfriend, but his best friend for all those years. He should just say _thank you_, but instead blurts out, “Why?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. You were removed from the Empire when you were only an infant—you couldn’t possibly have been a double agent. At best, you would be discriminated against simply for being a Nif, when you are, at heart, a Lucian.”

The tears are clawing at Prompto’s eyes. He mumbles hopefully, desperately, “Then... you’re not going to turn me in?”

Ignis pauses his stirring motion. He sets the wooden spoon against the edge of the pan and turns to grasp Prompto’s chin, drawing Prompto up for a chaste but heartfelt kiss. It’s firm and _warm_, like Ignis is making it clear that Prompto isn’t alone. When they part, Ignis keeps his face close to Prompto’s. He gently threads his fingers through the back of Prompto’s hair and murmurs, “I’m not going to turn you in, Prompto. We can tell Noctis when you’re ready, but until then, it doesn’t bother me, and it never has.”

Prompto sucks in a breath that turns into a sob. Embarrassed, he quickly scrubs at his eyes. Ignis presses a kiss against his forehead. 

He wraps his arms tight around Ignis’ middle and hugs Ignis so close that it’s a wonder Ignis can still breathe. He holds Prompto back and murmurs, “I do love you, you know. ...Now, let’s have something to eat.”


End file.
